


Locked Doors

by bitterglitter



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Alcohol, Crying, Crying Rick, Lots of Crying, Not Beta Read, Other, and bitter morty, i wrote this in like twenty minutes at 12 am, you get that so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 17:33:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6018667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitterglitter/pseuds/bitterglitter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Morty wanted to do was get some goddamn sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Locked Doors

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the post that I wrote this for: http://guiltyhipster.tumblr.com/post/84582943147/what-if-morty-finally-got-a-lock-for-his-door-to 
> 
> I'd like to apologize to the OP 
> 
> Have fun, kids

It seemed like a good idea at the time, a great idea even. He’d been bitching about others (mainly Rick) barging into his room for so long, it was almost a relief when he finally got a lock and some promise of privacy. A boy couldn’t jack off in peace while knowing his drunk grandpa could just walk in whenever the hell he felt like it. 

For the first two nights it worked, Morty got the first full night of sleep in over a year and woke up not feeling like he was going to die if he stood up. While his adventures with Rick may be fun they had some fucked up side-effects on him. He managed to stand up and get dressed without passing out in the middle of it, so he counted it as a win. 

The third night Morty ran into a problem. 

He had just been able to drift off into the place of almost asleep but not really awake when the pounding started. Morty jolted back into awareness (if you could even call his state that) and laid there listening to the noise from his door. He glanced over and in the low light of the room he could see it start to shake under the force. 

His name was shouted. Well, not really his name more of a jumble of noises, but he’d heard those noises often enough to know they were supposed to be his name. The letters and sounds just got blocked up and mixed together in the river of booze Rick forced down his throat all the time. 

Morty didn’t move. He was already bone-tired from another life threatening mission and didn’t really have it in him to deal with Rick. (He for sure wasn’t going to risk Rick pulling another knife on him, what the _fuck._ ) A part of him was sure if he just ignored Rick eventually he’d get bored and leave Morty alone to get some sleep. 

It did stop, but only for a few seconds. Then the doorknob started rattling and the pounding was back and Jesus, Morty was going to get a headache from all of this. His name shouted again, only this time over and over with each rattle of the door knob followed by threats and statements like “I k-kn-know you’re in there!” 

Where else would he be? 

Throwing a pillow over his head and rolling from facing the door, Morty’s resolve to ignore the noise didn’t waver even as it grew. Rick just wouldn’t give up and Morty began to wonder how much Rick actually had to drink. 

Just as he was about to break and shout at Rick to leave him the hell alone (Morty hated shouting at Rick, but when it had to be done it had to be done) the noises finally stopped. No more sloppy shouting of his name or poor attempts to break the door down. 

He waited half a minute then let himself relax. Finally, peace and quiet-

A sob. A quiet, soft noise that Morty wasn’t sure he’s heard before. He’d heard other like it, mostly behind the locked door of his parents’ room, but this one was different. A different pitch and different emotion behind it. So different Morty sat up and strained to listen closer. 

Another sob. And another. And another until they flowed out of Rick almost as easily as Morty’s name did. From behind the locked door Morty could hear it loud and clear and his chest twisted because had he ever really heard Rick cry? No. Especially not like that. 

Forgetting sleep, forgetting the peace of privacy, forgetting that a drunk Rick was a dangerous one, forgetting any reason he had for the lock at all, Morty climbed out of bed and shuffled towards the door. 

It hurt. Hearing it up close, just a thin piece of wood between them, made Morty feel sick. He wanted to cry too. 

He couldn’t, though. 

Instead all he could do was unlock the door and open it, move out of the way as Rick fell back because he was leaning so hard on it he had nothing to keep him up anymore, and pull Rick inside. He reeked of alcohol and sadness and regret and if this was any other day and Rick wasn’t smashed out of his mind maybe Morty would join in on crying. 

Morty just let Rick wrap himself around him, letting himself be surrounded by the smell of booze and the broken whispers of “I’m sorry”.  


End file.
